


Pushing Stars

by Celebrimbor_Of_Eregion



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Maybe a tiny bit, No Angst, Redemption, Silverfisting, canonverse, fourth age valinor, no one gets tortured, redemption arc, silvergifting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-16 05:04:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16947522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celebrimbor_Of_Eregion/pseuds/Celebrimbor_Of_Eregion
Summary: “Sweet Tyelpë was sweet. He still had those very same bright eyes, that flowing soft hair descending down his back in dark waves, and the fine smile that had captured Mairon’s heart back when he so luckily posed as Annatar.”Mairon is on probation in Fourth Age Valinor. He wants Tyelpë back, but, as it usually happens in Mairon’s life, nothing goes as planned.





	1. Traditions and Novelties

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, I want to say sorry to the readers of Mirkwood Suites and A Silver Star. I am not in a good place right now, and I feel like writing something easier and more positive is the way to help it.

****

“You’ve been recommended to me as the best relationship therapist in the area.”

The Maia of Irmo crossed her legs, smiling at her patient who looked slightly yellow with anxiety. Or maybe the yellow armchair he sat on and the dim light of the office were not doing justice to his complexion. “That might be fair,” she said. The  _ was  _ fair, and numerous awards hanged on the wall were supposed to add evidence to that statement so that the Maia didn’t have to. “So, what brings you in today?”

“I want to get my ex back.”

The Maia therapist smiled wider. At least, this one knew what he wanted. A lot of them didn’t, or thought they did, but it was something noble-sounding like  _ I just want to resolve the conflict between us  _ when it actually meant  _ I want my ex back. _ “A lot of people do,” she nodded. “Any details?”

“You see…” the patient stuttered - like many of her patients did when they were supposed to reveal their most precious secrets to a lady in a white robe whose reputation was based on some gossip and a bunch of papers on the wall. “My case is a little unusual.”

“Oh, trust me,” the Maia’s smile was still glued to her face, “it is probably less unusual than you think.”

“Me and my ex were enemies.”

The therapist chuckled at this additional revelation. “That is a lot more common than you imagine.”

“I lied to him. I’ve been lying about my identity for centuries.”

“More normal than not,” she shot back.

“We fought a war.”

“That happens.”

“I took him prisoner.”

“I’m sure you were delighted.”

“Then I tortured him.”

The Maia therapist paused for a moment. “That is… a little less common.”

But the patient wouldn’t stop confessing; at this point, there was no turning back. “Then I killed him.”

“This case might be a little tough.” The therapist frowned. It wasn’t “a little tough,” it was “super fucked up,” and that’s what she will tell her husband tonight as they both sip hot chocolate. But that would be later. For now, she had to secure her future supply of hot chocolate, which required stable income, which required listening to this weirdo.

“Then I put his body on a pole and displayed it as a banner for my army.”

Now,  _ the army  _ changed the game completely. “Wait a moment.” The Maia rose, no longer a smiling lady but a menacing figure. “Sir, we have rules here.” Irritated, she pointed at a sign by the door. It read, “No dark overlords, dead people, solicitors, or Lord Namo’s Maiar allowed.” Unfortunately, the patient was one of these.

“Pleease!” he begged, folding his hands together. “You gotta help me, I love him!”

The therapist sighed and slowly sat down. “Fine. First, we need to learn to say sorry…”

* * *

Since his reembodiment in Valinor, Mairon had learned to count the money. He now had a weaker form, one that required eating and sleeping and also other disgusting things that Mairon did not want to think about. He had to dress warmly when it was cold out and dressed the wounds if he injured his fingers while cutting papayas. Not that he could afford those very often, as the work he was doing was supposed to be a punishment and a venue of redemption rather than a source of income.

Still, Mairon was ready to spend all of that if it could bring sweet Tyelpë back to him. Sweet Tyelpë was sweet. He still had those very same bright eyes, that flowing soft hair descending down his back in dark waves, and the fine smile that had captured Mairon’s heart back when he so luckily posed as Annatar. Unfortunately, sweet Tyelpë’s body had grown a little too thin and much too flat since those golden times, but a steady diet of raspberry pies and juicy steaks could bring back the soft curves that Mairon longed to touch. There were several problems, however, with that particular arrangement. First, it was unclear if sweet Tyelpë had it in his plans to stick to such a diet. Second and much more concerning, sweet Tyelpë did not seem to be aware of Mairon’s existence, and Mairon was unsure of what would come should such an awareness ever arise. The third problem was that sweet Tyelpë did not leave the house without a long dagger at his not-so-curvy hip and a family member or two accompanying him. It was Mairon’s sheer lack of luck that those family members included the fearsome lady Nerdanel, the grumpy dad Curufinwë, and also the illustrious granddad Fëanaro who was worse than the previous two combined. Sometimes, there could also be the kind uncle Nolofinwë. Mairon did not want to find out what uncle Nolofinwë’s reaction would be if Mairon tried to attract the attention of Nolofinwë’s nephew. His knowledge of history made it clear to Mairon that this would be a bad, bad, very bad idea.

Mairon had thought a visit to the therapist would help him, but alas, that visit proved pointless. “You need to earn forgiveness first, then cultivate a friendship, and then, if you’re patient…” First of all, the amount of patience Mairon had was smaller than Tulkas’s subtleness distracted from Fëanor’s anger control and divided by Luthien’s respect for Melkor. As importantly, Mairon did not cultivate friendships. He just stormed into people’s lives, and if they liked him, they liked him. Finally, he did not need to be “patient” to have Tyelpë fall in love with him because Tyelpë was already in love with him, and how did that lady manage to miss it from his lengthy monologue that could be summarized as “Tyelpë loves me.” That lady said a lot of other dumb things, and if she had sent him the bill, he would just draw a butt on it and mail it back.

After another visit to Fëanor’s house with the purpose of staring at sweet Tyelpë’s too thin thighs, Mairon made a decision. He would not listen to the horseshit that the therapist tried to pass for valuable advice. He would do it the old-fashioned way.

That was, by kidnapping Tyelpë.


	2. Family Ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mairon embarrasses himself. And then again.

Kidnapping Tyelpë was the easiest of all evil deeds Mairon had committed. It was even simpler than capturing him back in the Second Age. Then, Tyelpë was in full armor, infuriated and devastated by the destruction of his city, his battle rage fueled by a desire to die and a strive to do as much damage as possible before his fëa would (as he had believed) depart. It was exciting, in a way, but Mairon would not recall these memories with pride. It did not feel quite right to burn Ost-in-Edhil and fight his dear Tyelpë. Neither of them deserved that treatment. He would not be so bad now, he would be kind to Tyelpë, he would show the poor Elf his love.

Mairon was in a rush to deliver his priceless cargo to his own house, so there was no time for talking. It was pure luck that Curufin had forgotten something and had to leave Tyelpë waiting outside while he was looking for that thing in the house. Curufin might have witnessed the kidnapping through a window, he might have been chasing them, so Mairon had to move fast, and in this form, it was not so easy. Fortunately, the Noldo in his arms wasn’t struggling at all, perhaps out of shock. Poor, poor Tyelpë, after everything he’d been through, he was probably terrified! Mairon decided he would be very, very gentle and kind once they would arrive to his house. 

Soon, he stormed inside and hid his love behind the safety of a locked door. Now, his lost treasure was finally retrieved.

“Tyelpë, sweetheart, I have you,” Mairon whispered, leaning against the door, so overcome by passion he was almost growing blind. He squeezed his beloved once more, and...

The Elf twitched in his arms. “W h a t?” Not a trace of love was in that voice, and Mairon’s poor heart sank.

“I said, sweetheart, I have you,” the Maia’s hope was melting away by the moment. Why wouldn’t Tyelpë kiss him now?

“No, the first word.”

“Tyelpë,” Mairon sighed. “I said Tyelpë, your name. Now, may we kiss?  _ Please? _ ”

“Are you stupid?!” the Elf growled, wriggling in Mairon’s hold. “That ain’t my fucking name! That’s my brother’s!”

Mairon blinked, his arm muscles relaxing in confusion, which resulted in him dumping the unfortunate Noldo on the floor.  _ Holy shit.  _ Tyelpë had been released from the Halls half a year earlier. Freshly released Elves were short-haired, both to symbolize new beginnings and to signal to others that this one would require extra care. Tyelpë’s hair would have been shoulder-length at best, and this one had it hip-length.

He got the wrong Noldo.

* * *

“Now let me make this very clear,” the Noldo rapped out as he sat at Mairon’s dining table (where he wasn’t invited to sit) holding a half-eaten cheese string (that he wasn’t offered to eat). “I am  _ not  _ Tyelpë. I am his brother, my name is Curuon, and I am like ten thousand years younger.” He sighed and lifted his head up, subjecting Mairon to a burning gaze. “I can’t believe you failed to notice that. Do I look that bad?”

“Tyelpë doesn’t look bad!” Mairon snapped.

“Sure he doesn’t.” Curuon stretched his arms, the cheese string still in his hand. He seemed undisturbed by being kidnapped by a dark lord. Well, former dark lord, now full-time lover who somehow got a wrong sweetheart.

“If you aren’t Tyelpë,” Mairon narrowed his eyes suspiciously, “why didn’t you resist? I grabbed you and ran away, and you didn’t even squeal!”

“Well,” Curuon pouted, “I didn’t know you were after my brother. I assumed you were some kind of suitor, and I haven’t had any of those, so I thought I’d just let you do your thing.”

The Maia’s irritation dissipated as he took a closer look at the Elf. The thing was surely very young, so young the terrors of the First and Second Age were but history to him. Somehow, it felt nice to know that after all those atrocities, there were creatures who would consider being picked up and carried away a game, a fun adventure.

“Also, I was just praying to Eru to give me a way to escape from father’s smithing lesson, so I thought that was it.”

Mairon snorted.  _ This  _ was definitely not Tyelpë.

“Any chance I might get a cup of tea?” Curuon asked, but he didn’t have his brother’s lovely, polite tone.

“You don’t order me around, you Noldo!” Mairon bared his teeth. “You are my victim, and I don’t even love you!”

Curuon yawned. “When Nerdanel finds out you kidnapped me,  _ you’ll  _ be a victim, a victim of castration. And when Tyelpë finds out you mistook me for him,  _ he  _ won’t love you either.”

Mairon pursed his lips, his sad gaze going down. “One cup of tea coming right up,” he muttered and rose to perform a walk of shame to the kitchen.

Halfway through, he stopped and turned around sharply. “Um, I have a question. Does Nerdanel… you know…” his voice lowered to a whisper, “have experience in performing castration?”

“Well,” Curuon smirked, “she was doing that statue of, ya know, Rog breaking the chains, I don’t know why he was s’posed to be naked, but Tyelpë ogled that statue alright…” After a small giggle at Mairon’s jealous gasp, he continued. “But the city government didn’t like that Rog had that, ya know… what all men have. So they told her to chop it off. And she did.”

Mairon winced.

“Yeah, yeah,” Curuon agreed, “I’ve had phantom pains for a week after that. So, ya know. If she chopped off a stone dick alright, surely she’ll have no trouble chopping off yours. It can’t be that hard. Even if Tyelpë’s around.”

“Green or black?” Mairon interrupted that unfortunate train of thought. The prospects did not look great to him, and he wasn’t looking forward to any reminders.

“Ain’t you got no herbal?” Curuon looked as if Mairon had just said there was no air in his house.

“I don’t keep that shit. Actually, I don’t even have green, so it’s going to be black.”

“Well, how were you planning to keep Tyelp in this house?” Curuon blinked, amazed. “No delicious herbal tea so full of rose petals one could choke on them? What else ain’t you got? Fried potatoes? Pork chops? Mint candy??”

Mairon batted his lashes, staring at Curuon as his hand froze in the air with the previous intention of opening the tea cabinet.

“You don’t know what food he likes?!” Curuon gasped, his face reflecting feelings ranging from shock to disgust. “What’s Tyelpë’s favorite color??”

“Um… red?” Mairon’s face and neck started growing hot.

“Are you dumb?!” Curuon screamed, pulling his own hair in shock and rage. “He  _ hates  _ red! It reminds him of that night in Alqualondë that he has been seeing in his nightmares ever since!”

Mairon continued blinking like a dumb doll.

“It’s blue, you knucklehead.” Tyelpë’s brother shook his head. “Blue and silver. And those cheese strings you put up here? He’s lactose intolerant, he got that from Finwë. Even I know that, and you had him for far longer than I did.” He sighed. “I’m not even asking what his favorite position in bed was, not because he’s my brother and that’s disgusting - thought that too - but because you probably wouldn’t even notice if he wasn’t there and you’ve been fucking a pillow the whole time! Ya know, from what I heard, it sounded like you two had this passionate affair at work and all,” the Noldo waved his hands as if for theatrical effect, “then you made the rings, then the war, there was a lot of pain and passion involved…” He shook his head, again. “That’s bullshit. You’re just a worthless and shitty lover who can only attract a lonely, depressed virgin and should never, ever get a second chance. You suck, dude, you’re even worse than I thought.”

Mairon turned away, into the darkness of the tea cabinet. Tears rolled down his face, dropping onto the kitchen counter and gathering into ugly pools of wetness. The Noldo was right, and the relationship therapist was right, too. He had not been pursuing the love of his love, he’d been trying to retrieve a lost toy whose jealous owner he supposedly was. He didn’t know much about Tyelpë’s person and was unable to tell him from his brother.

He, indeed, sucked.

“I…” His voice was shaking, but since he’d already started talking, he had to continue. “I wonder if I could ask you to set up my meeting with Tyelpë. To make things right.”

“Well, I would gladly,” Curuon’s voice sounded surprisingly gentle, “but we have no idea where he is.”

Mairon stepped out of the kitchen, forgetting his tears. “What?! What do you mean you don’t know where he is?”

“He went up to the mountains two months ago,” the Elf explained. “There were rumors of mithril there, and he wanted to check. He had to send a bird every week, to let us know he was alright, and he would, but then he stopped about three weeks ago. Fëanor went to search for him, but it’s been a while, and we haven’t heard from Fëanor either.”

Mairon grew pale. His Tyelpë, his poor little Elf, lost in the caverns of Pelori, all alone? Oh no. He would never let that happen.

“Quit stuffing your face, you’re leaving,” he announced.

“Where?” Curuon blinked, almost dropping his cheese string.

“To your house, you’ll pack your shit and grab me a map. We’re going to rescue your brother.”

“That’s the spirit!” the Noldo gasped in admiration. He approved of the idea with all sincerity.

There was someone, however, who did not.


	3. Waylaid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mairon's bold quest is interrupted, yet he manages to find pleasure in that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to bump up the rating because of Mairon's intrusive sexual thoughts about Tyelpë.  
> As usual, Mairon is being creepy, but I promise, no Tyelpes would be harmed in this fic.

“What were you thinking, you little dumbass?!” the venerable Noldorin lady yelled at her grandson. “Do you have any sense in you?! What were you reading those history books for?”

Curumo hardly had any sense in him, young as he was; and even if history books were supposed to make up for the lack of wits, he was not actually reading those. Nerdanel had better not find out, or she would yell even louder.

Mairon sighed, looking at the cup of tea he was offered by another elleth, a quiet, dark-haired one with a lovely smile. One would think history had taught  _ him  _ something, and that would be, do not mingle with the Noldor. Still, he packed his things, the way his favorite Noldo had taught him back in Eregion, and ended up being dragged into this house by a she-Noldo who was being angry at him and his fellow companion, a Noldorin cub, for trying to embark on a quest to save one of those Noldor. This was madness.

Mairon did not really want to be in Fëanor’s house, for  _ that  _ Noldo was the worst of all Noldor. However, the owner was away, and hopefully dead, so it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Paying no attention to Nerdanel’s shrieking, the Maia looked around, wondering if this was the house where Tyelpë spent his early days in the previous lifetime. It was endearing to think of - though the image of Tyelpë as a tiny Elfling was a little disturbing. 

“Do you know what happened to your brother?!” the lady of the house continued yelling. “You know what  _ he _ ,” she pointed at Mairon, “did to him?! And you thought you could just go on a quest like you are, what, Frodo Baggins?!”

Curuon was looking down, silent. He had nothing to say except for - yes, he was indeed inspired by Frodo Baggins, but if he was Frodo, he wasn’t supposed to go on an adventure with Sauron. In fact, rather the opposite.

Nerdanel was against any adventures. “You are not going anywhere,” she concluded. “You are a child, he is a known criminal, and you also have school.”

The known criminal sipped his tea, enjoying the taste and the fight.`

A mention of school ruined Nerdanel’s temporary success: school was not the first or second in Curuon’s list of priorities. To be honest, it was somewhere in the hundreds range. “But Tyelpë is lost!” he cried. “And grandfather probably too!”

“And you thought  _ Sauron _ would help you find them?!” she rose, furious.

“Please, Nerdanel,” the soft-spoken elleth protested softly as she approached to put her gentle hands on Curuon’s shoulders. The young Elf sighed and closed his eyes, relaxing after the fight. “He is only a boy. Those things are but tales to him. He doesn’t understand.”

The woman was drawing from her own experience, recalling the days when she was far too young and stupid to marry a certain Noldo, yet she would never say it out loud.

Nerdanel rolled her eyes but sat down. “Tyelpë was much smarter when he was his age.”

“We should not compare the children,” the dark-haired woman shook her head, ever soft.

Here, the woman was drawing from experience of a certain Noldorin king that happened to have children from different marriages who would not bear comparison. She would  _ definitely  _ never say it out loud.

“That is true,” Nerdanel sighed. She knew which story the other woman was relying upon, yet she would not talk of it either. “I’m sorry, Curuon.”

The young Elf was sorry too. He sprang to his feet and promptly approached to hug his grandmother. “Silly little Elfling,” she chided, no longer as irritated, and ruffled his hair. But then, her gaze fell to Mairon’s cup with delicious tea. “Nellë,” she frowned, looking at the dark-haired elleth, “remember how I taught you to be hospitable?”

The woman blinked, her mouth opening to resemble the letter úrë, an expression Mairon would recognize even after so many years. That was Tyelpë’s “what-did-I-do-wrong” face, and the memory filled his chest with so much warmth he wanted to cry. 

“Well, I overdid it,” Nerdanel stated. “You don’t have to give tea to your son’s murderer.”

“Alright,” Nellë shrugged and took Mairon’s cup away. She poured the contents into the sink and proceeded to cleaning the cup, her face keeping the chill neutral expression. “Curuon, you’ll have to go get the dish soap tomorrow,” she announced.

Mairon stared at her, wide-eyed. That was Tyelpë’s mother! He got to meet Tyelpë’s mother! He was so weirdly happy he wasn’t even upset about the tea. Uplifted, Mairon started wondering what traits sweet Tyelpë inherited from her. Cute faces, definitely; kindness, also definitely; love for tea…

“And you,” Nerdanel finally turned to Mairon, her next victim. “If I  _ ever  _ see you next to my grandson - either of them - I’ll cut your limbs off.”

“You can’t stop me!” Mairon snapped. No one was allowed to stand between him and his own Elf. “I love Tyelpë, and I  _ will  _ go looking for him.”

He expected Nerdanel to go furious, to hit him, but instead, she only frowned. “You are right. I cannot stop this quest. And that’s why I will lead it.”

“What?!” Mairon and Curuon yelled together.

“What you heard. I cannot stop you, and I do not want you to go searching for Tyelpë without my supervision. I am going with you.” She then turned to the silly little Elfling who knew no history. “You, however, are staying home. You are much too young, you have school, and I don’t trust this thug to be around you.”

Mairon snorted. He was called all kinds of things, even “Sauron” and “Gorthaur,” but not “thug.” He concluded that he liked “Sauron” more.

“Well,” he smiled nervously, “I’ll see you at dawn then.” He hurried to get away from this woman, but Nerdanel was faster, and Mairon found his wrist trapped in her grip. Infuriated, he tried to pull it free, but she was stronger. 

“You aren’t leaving until dawn,” Nerdanel declared. “You are staying for the night. I don’t want you sneaking out without me to find Tyelpë. I don’t want you out of control. And in case that wasn’t convincing enough, Nellë is an excellent archer at close range, and I have a heavy hand. You do  _ not  _ want to test us.”

Nellë turned from her dishes to reveal Tyelpë’s stubborn expression. It was not Mairon’s favorite; it usually meant he would not get what he wanted from his sweet Tyelpë. In this case it, apparently, meant he was staying for the night.

“Alright,” the Maia gave up and sat. “May I have more tea?” He turned to Nellë, trying to look cute. “Please?”

“The teapot is over there,” Nellë pointed with her finger, looking sleepy and somewhat lazy. Mairon adored it when Tyelpë looked like that, but she wasn’t Tyelpë, Tyelpë was lost in the mountains, distant and unattainable. “Water is in the kettle. Teacup and spoon next to the sink.”

With that, she left; Nerdanel followed her, visibly exhausted.  _ “Good riddance,”  _ thought Mairon as he proceeded to making himself tea.

Curuon’s silence, however, wasn’t comforting. “Are you upset, little Elf?” Mairon asked, trying to keep his tone casual. He didn’t want that Noldo to think Mairon cared about him or something.

“Yes,” Curuon responded faintly, his face pressed into his folded forearms. “I wanted to go look for Tyelpë.”

Mairon hummed. He did not know how to comfort little Elves; he could hurt them alright, but comforting was still new to him. Unless, of course, the Elf in question was sweet Tyelpë, but Tyelpë was lost in the mountains, distant and… “Can you show me Tyelpë’s room?” he suggested.

Curuon lifted his head up; somehow, it helped distract him. Mairon silently praised himself. “Follow me,” the Noldo stood up.

The house was much humbler than Mairon expected. Perhaps Fëanor had decided to cut down on luxury, or maybe it was Finwë no longer being kind, or else, the flood of Elf lords had led to the inflation of the title and, consequently, a decline in revenue.

“Here,” Curuon opened a white door that said “Tyelpë’s room” and beckoned for Mairon to come inside, which the Maia did without hesitation.

The room was much smaller than what Tyelpë had in Eregion, but rest of the things were just… so Tyelpë. Silver stars everywhere, pieces of paper with some floral designs and obscure mechanisms, and a plan of Tirion’s pipe network with sweet Tyelpë’s precious handwriting. Something tickled Mairon’s cheek, something wet and uncomfortable.

“Does he… talk of me?” he asked suddenly, surprised to hear his own voice so shaking. “Does he mention me but a tiny bit, does he… miss me?” His heart ached in his chest, his throat tightened hurtfully; he longed to hear something, anything, but…

“Nah?” Curuon shrugged. “I dunno, he never said anything. I learned about you from guys at school. You know, death and Second Age stuff aren’t our fav topic in this house. Tyelpë mostly talks about the inventions.” He pointed at the map. “Can you imagine there used to be no water supply here before father and grandfather did this thing? People used to bring water from streams and bathe in it. And they didn’t have toilets! Eww!”

Mairon covered his face, hands trembling. He did not wish to hear of the water supply system, exciting as it was. He couldn’t believe sweet Tyelpë never talked of him, never mentioned the sweet love they shared, the happiness of their collaboration, the heartbreak, the pain… It must have been that this Elf was too young, Mairon told himself, and Tyelpë would not share such things with him. Of course. He was too young to understand or care.

“Well,” Curuon frowned, “are you done? You aren’t staying in Tyelpë’s room.”

“Why not?” Mairon blinked, suddenly dragged out of his reflections.

“Because this is  _ Tyelpë’s  _ room,” Curuon pointed at the words on the door, slightly irritated. “If you were Tyelpë, I’d let you stay here, but you are not, so you’re gonna stay in the guest room.”

“I doubt I qualify for a guest,” Mairon pursed his lips. He wanted to remain here, among Tyelpë’s things, and dig for more sweet memories and new facts. He wanted to bury himself in Tyelpë.

“Sorry I don’t have an asshole-who-killed-my-brother room, you’ll have to make a do with the guest room for now,” Curuon growled.w

Mairon followed him down the hallway, sulking. It was upsetting to leave that room, but he did not want to anger the only person in the house who was sort of on his side.

“By the way,” Curuon spoke as he was taking fresh bedsheets out of the closet in the living room, “try not to get out of here till morning, okay? You have a bathroom over there,” he pointed at the door by the bed. “Dad is returning from the forge late, he might not be happy about your presence.”

The thought of an angry Curufin threw Mairon into a new fit of anxiety. Nellë was kind and sweet, and that probably made up for the absence of such qualities in her husband. Surely the Fëanorian wouldn’t be too happy about hosting the one who killed his son… The Maia swallowed nervously.

“Ah, don’t worry,” Curuon waved his hand dismissively, “he’ll be tired af, he’ll just go to bed and not pay attention to anything unless you make noise. Don’t make noise.”

“I will not,” Mairon reassured him.

* * *

Exactly an hour and a half later, Mairon dropped a vase. The noise was awful.

“Shit,” he whispered and froze, listening for Curufin’s vengeful steps. Little hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and even his blood flow seemed to slow down.

Luckily, everyone seemed to be asleep. With a quiet sigh, Mairon sank down to collect the pieces. Tyelpë would have to forgive him.

Having finished with the stealthy cleanup, Mairon went back to his original task: digging through Tyelpë’s things. There was, of course, no reason for him to hide other than to avoid the wrath of these Elves; there was nothing shameful in running through his lover’s possessions, he’d done that plenty of times in Ost-in-Edhil, and there was no point in stopping now.

So far, he’d got plenty of books, a lovely bracelet, offensively modest underwear, and a note that read, _ “Tyelpë, darling, please don’t forget to take your lunch to the forge.”  _ That was lovely. Very lovely.

When everything seemed explored, Mairon’s gaze fell to the bed.

Oh.

_ Tyelpë’s bed. _

Quickly, he threw his treasures on the desk and climbed into the comfort of blue blankets, and… Oh, stars.  _ It smelled like Tyelpë.  _ He had barely been thinking about that scent for all these years, but now, he could recognize it so well. Tears ran down his cheeks, his breath caught, every part of him tingling, trembling at the memory of sweet Tyelpë’s smooth skin, his obedient, malleable body, his restrained wrists, his soft gasps, his weak attempts to get away, to get closer, his  _ screams! _ .. 

“T-tyelpë…” Mairon moaned as he pressed himself into the sheets, sprawled across the bed. He imagined his Elf’s body caught under him, shaking sweetly, hands grasping at him so desperately, lovely voice begging for him not to stop, never to stop, ah,  _ ah, of course I won’t stop, Tyelpë, Tyelpë, my Tyelpë! _

Sweet Tyelpë was the absolute best Elf on Arda. He had the loveliest room and also some paper tissues by the bed, which was very convenient and useful. By the way, why did he have them there? Surely, to remove the consequences of thinking about Mairon. He must have been lonely, poor unfucked Tyelpë. Tomorrow, Mairon would start his journey to the Pelori to search for the sweet Noldo and correct that situation.

Calmed by that thought and soothed by the scent, Mairon wrapped himself into Tyelpë’s blankets and curled up in the most comfortable way. For the first time in a while, he fell asleep strangely blissful.


End file.
